


Thicker than Water

by Abraxas



Category: To the Manor Born
Genre: F/M, Family, Humour, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abraxas/pseuds/Abraxas
Summary: During his lunch with Greville Hartley, Richard has a few things on his mind.
Relationships: Richard DeVere/Audrey fforbes-Hamilton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Thicker than Water

_1\. The Sheridan Club_

Given the choice, Greville Hartley preferred his dining companions to be young, female and noticeably attractive. His current companion was not particularly young, most definitely not female but he was a handsome devil, Greville had to admit. Women probably went potty over him, but if Richard DeVere had got himself engaged to Audrey then he clearly lacked neither sense nor taste.

And the lunch had been surprisingly pleasant - and entertaining, even, as Richard outlined some of his attempts to drag Grantleigh and its environs kicking and screaming into the second half of the twentieth century. He found himself agreeing with Audrey’s assessment: Richard was a charming man. A far worthier husband for Audrey, her second time out of the stall.

A moment of silence. Then Richard cleared his throat softly.

‘Mister Hartley-’

‘Come now, my boy: Greville! All in the family now.’

Richard’s glass was checked on its way to his lips. He took a sip, seemed to make up his mind about something.

‘Greville. I want to make it absolutely clear that I did not ask Audrey to come and see you. I certainly did not ask her to do ... well, what she did.’

Greville waved a hand. ‘Pride’s all very well, DeVere- Suppose I should start calling you Richard, now. What was I saying?’

‘Pride.’

‘Ah, yes.’ He signalled for the waiter to refill their glasses. ‘All very well, but you know what they say about pride.’

‘The fforbes-Hamiltons have plenty of it?’ Richard asked drily.

Greville’s eyebrows flickered for a moment and then he laughed. ‘Yes, stiff-necked bunch. Audrey’s always been more Hartley, though she wouldn’t admit it.’

‘Well, they haven’t been at Grantleigh for four hundred years,’ Richard agreed.

The older man watched him for a moment, eyes bright and beady like a bird’s. ‘What name did you start out with?’

‘Bedrich Polouvicek.’

‘Hm, yes...’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I can see why you got rid of it. Quite a mouthful.’

‘Not in Czechoslovakia.’

The tone was mild, but there was a definite steel beneath the silk. Greville tilted his head, acknowledging the point. ‘Still. Audrey DeVere sounds very well.’

Richard blew out a breath. ‘Except that it won’t.’

‘Eh?’

They observed one another across the table, with its snowy linen and glittering crystal. Civilised surrounds.

‘She won’t be Audrey DeVere. We’re not engaged. We’re not getting married. We’re not even involved in a ... a...’

‘Liaison?’ Greville offered.

One corner of Richard’s mouth curled. ‘Liaison. No.’ He said it softly, wistfulness dancing at the edges of that solitary syllable.

‘I see.’

Richard sat back in his chair. ‘It would become a bit obvious that none of it was true when there wasn’t a wedding.’ He took more of his wine.

‘So, Audrey took it on herself to ask me to bail you out?’

‘That’s about the size of it.’

There was silence and then Greville Hartley let out a shout of laughter that would have been frowned upon in Brooks’s but in the more bohemian environs of the Sheridan Club barely registered with the other patrons. Only one man glanced over and when he recognised the club president, raised his hand in salutation.

Greville returned the greeting and Richard, curious, studied the other man for a moment. There was something familiar about that face.

‘Is he an actor?’

‘Guthrie?’ Greville’s eyes widened slightly. ‘No, he’s a High Court Judge.’

‘Oh... No wonder he looks anxious.’ Richard turned away, played with the stem of his wine glass. ‘I realise I’ve just talked myself out that bailout-’

Greville waved a hand. ‘Nonsense. You’ll get your money.’

Richard blinked. ‘What?’

‘I like you,’ the old man stated. ‘You’re a good sort. Rather wish I’d got to know you years ago. Besides, if I pull out Audrey will never let me hear the end of it.’

It was worth it, Greville thought, for the expression on Richard’s face: a sort of bewildered disbelief edged with suspicion.

‘Best if we don’t let Audrey know that I know,’ he continued easily. ‘Not after she went to so much trouble. Don’t want to hurt her feelings.’

‘No, of course,’ Richard murmured, his voice sounding weaker than he liked to think it usually did. It was one of the perks of the British upper classes, he thought: what was termed eccentric for them would be called stark staring mad in anyone else. A pause and when he spoke again it seemed to be more to himself. ‘I can’t think why she did it.’

A pair of bushy eyebrows rose. ‘Can’t you? She thinks very highly of you.’

Richard considered this for a moment and then smiled wryly. ‘Well, I suppose I’m the devil she knows. She won’t want Grantleigh falling into a stranger’s hands a second time.’

‘She didn’t ask for herself, she asked for you.’ The affable tone sharpened, the bright eyes hardening. ‘She admires you.’

‘Audrey said that?’ Richard’s voice was slow.

A waiter, with swift hands and a noiseless tread, swept away unwanted plates and glasses and retreated. Greville softened slightly.

‘You might know a lot about business, but you’ve got a lot to learn about women.’

‘I-’ Richard was indignant and then subsided, smiled ruefully. ‘Possibly.’ And more than possible, he thought, that Greville Hartley knew more about women than was good for any man.

The waiter returned with brandy that Richard didn’t particularly want but felt that he might need. He held the glass, warming its contents, and found himself dwelling on thoughts of a pair of blue eyes that could be wonderfully deep and inviting or as freezing as a cold day in Siberia.

Greville took a sip of the brandy, appreciated its body and the warmth spreading throughand then looked at the younger man critically. ‘Ever been married?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah. Divorced?’

Richard pulled in a breath. ‘I’m a widower.’

There was a flicker across Greville’s face and he stared into his brandy. ‘Oh. Bad luck. Love her, did you?’

‘Very much.’

‘Did she love you?’

A thousand memories burst, unbidden, across his eyes. Her voice, her face, stupid jokes, fights, the make-ups afterwards, the feel of her in his arms.

‘Very much.’

Greville nodded. ‘My second wife loved me very much. And I loved her to death. Literally. Hunting accident - took a jump badly. I still miss her like the blazes.’

Richard studied him, the lines of his face suddenly deeper, harsher, and he felt a stab of pity.

Greville tossed back his brandy, leant forward and fixed Richard with a firm eye. ‘And how do you feel about my niece?’

The amber-coloured liquid swirled against the sides of the glass. Richard took a small sip; it really was excellent.

‘Not wishing to sound disrespectful, but I think the first person that I should tell that to should be Audrey.’

The old man’s face creased, a wide smile spreading across. ‘There’s hope for you yet.’

_2\. Grantleigh_

Audrey pushed open the door of the estate office and paused for a moment, taking in the sight that greeted her.

‘Hard at work, I see.’

Still leaning back in the chair, his feet up on the desk, Richard lowered his copy of Farmer’s Weekly and his dark eyes gleamed at her. ‘Research. Very important to keep abreast of all the latest developments.’

‘Hm.’ Her eyes were narrowed. ‘Or an excuse to avoid the rector.’

‘Yes, well, there is that,’ Richard admitted.

Audrey stared at her fiancé, exasperated, and shook her head. ‘And after everything you said about being part of the community and contributing to village life.’

His eyebrows went up. ‘I think it’s safe to say that I contribute a generous amount to village life. A visit from the rector is not dissimilar to being mugged.’

‘Richard!’

‘In the nicest possible way, of course. Besides, I know what he wanted - me to take over as scout leader while Spalding’s away.’

Audrey perched on the edge of his desk and viewed him critically. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

He returned her gaze with dignity. ‘I may be many things, but I am not the man to don a pair of shorts and go “dyb-dyb-dyb”.’

He was rewarded with a peal of laughter that Audrey tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back. It was an irresistible image. ‘Oh, really...’

Her laughter, her smile, had always been magical things.

Audrey regarded him quizzically. ‘What _are_ you the man for?’

His gaze travelled over her, the same considering slowness as when he had accepted her proposal. ‘Come over here and I’ll show you.’

‘Tempting,’ she said, and meant it, ‘but I didn’t come down here for pleasure.’

‘Oh?’

‘I came to bring you this.’ Audrey produced a small package from her coat pocket.

Richard swung his feet off the desk, sat forward to take it from her. A small item, wrapped in plain white paper, with his name written on it in a hand he didn’t recognise. He looked up at Audrey with a mute question. She shrugged slightly.

‘Arnold Plunkett stopped by. Apparently, it’s from Uncle Greville.’

His eyebrows quirked. ‘Your Uncle Greville?’

She sighed. ‘Unless you had one as well. They found it when they were going through his things.’

Richard turned it over in his hands. Audrey watched him, trying not to fidget. It must have nearly killed her, he thought, not to have torn it open first and given it to him afterwards. Once opened, the box revealed what was clearly a ring box, the fine leather worn and embossed with gold around the edges, and an envelope. Richard opened the latter, pulled out a single sheet of paper. The message it contained was brief.

‘Crafty old devil,’ Richard murmured, amusement colouring his tone.

‘Well?’ Audrey, beside herself, was digging her nails into the palms of her hands with the effort of restraining the impulse to snatch the whole lot off him.

‘See for yourself.’ He handed her the letter.

Audrey read it, frowned, and then re-read it, this time out loud. ‘“This belonged to my second wife. You’ll know what to do with it.” What is it?’

 _It_ was a plain band, old gold, its lustre glimmering in the lamplight.

Richard looked up at her. ‘How many wives did Greville have?’

‘Four, I think,’ Audrey replied. ‘Or possibly five.’

‘Well, his second wife was the one.’

‘The one what?’

In anyone else, it would have been a joke. He shook his head slightly. ‘The one who was the love of his life.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘He told me about her - a little. This must have been her wedding ring.’ He turned it over between his fingers, judged its weight. It was heavy. 24 carats. ‘I think the idea is that I give it to you on our wedding day.’

‘I never knew he was so sentimental,’ she said softly. She hadn’t really known him at all, she reflected; someone she had called upon when she needed something. And yet, in the end, she had a lot to be grateful to him for. There was an expression in Richard’s face that she couldn’t place. ‘Just what did you two talk about during that lunch?’

Richard recalled that wide-ranging and ultimately rather astonishing discussion and smiled. ‘Oh... This and that.’ He put the ring back in its box, snapped it shut; standing, he slid it into his pocket and then put his arm around Audrey’s shoulders. She leaned into him instinctively. ‘Come on. I’ll tell you all about it.’

**Author's Note:**

> Notes for geeks like me: the fictitious Sheridan Club, of which Greville Hartley is president, was the creation of John Mortimer for ‘Rumpole of the Bailey’. In that series, Mr Justice Guthrie Featherstone, played by the incomparable Peter Bowles, was a member of the Sheridan.


End file.
